


Playthings

by theskywasblue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, Dark Agenda, Dubious Consent, M/M, Shota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-09
Updated: 2010-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destruction is a true sign of devotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playthings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_mael](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a_mael).



> Originally written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/valentine_smut/) giftfic exchange 2009.

The god's name is Ukoku. The boy calls him 'Master'. The boy, in turn, is often called just "boy" sometimes "kiddo" or "hey you." He wants a name, but isn't sure at all how to ask for one. He can't remember if he ever had one before, though some of the men who thought of buying him called him "pretty" sometimes, pushing his head to one side so they wouldn't have to look at the dark stain over his other eye.

He likes the temple, much better than the places where he lived before. He has his own clean room with a window looking out into a garden, he can have a bath every day - though he doesn't often want to - and he is never hungry when he goes to bed or any other time except just before meals.

And, he gets toys.

His first is a doll.

It's a girl's doll - button eyes, pink cheeks, a little red jumper dress and cotton stings for orange hair - not a toy that any other young boy would have asked for if given the choice, but to the boy it is perfect and it is _his_, the very first thing that has ever been his. He has a hundred ideas in mind for what to call it; and it takes him days to decide on just the perfect one. Finally, he announces that his doll is named Rina.

Ukoku smiles when he hears it, a strange sort of smile that makes the boy's insides shiver.

The boy never lets Rina out of his sight; she keeps him company when his master goes away, which is often. He goes along with Ukoku now and then, but he knows that his master is very busy and cannot always watch out for a little boy the way that a boy needs to be watched out for. So the boy stays at the temple sometimes, or at an inn - there are never any shortage of people willing to care for him for a few hours or days along the roads Ukoku walks in exchange for the sanzo's blessings. The boy and Rina often sit by a window looking out into the dark night, waiting.

Ukoku gives him lots of other toys - there is one for nearly every week the boy is in his care; anything the boy sees and wants is his. But the doll is special.

* * *

"I want you to do something for me, kiddo."

He watches his master, rapt, but nervous. Ukoku turns Rina over and over in his hands - pale, strong hands with just a bit of yellow colour on the ends of his fingers from his cigarettes - dangles her from one foot, and plays with her hair. The boy cannot be without Rina now; if he is made to leave her behind when Ukoku takes him somewhere, his arms feel empty, when he cannot find her at night he cannot fall asleep. Sometimes she goes 'walkabout' as Ukoku playfully calls it, for days at a time and the boy is despondent, only to be overjoyed, beyond elation, when he finds her sitting on his bed as if awaiting his return.

"Anything," the boy says finally. "What do you want me to do Master?"

He speaks the words without really thinking, knowing only they will earn him back his doll. Ukoku leans across the table and sets her in front of him; though the boy's palms itch, he forces himself not to pick the doll back up until he has been given permission.

"I want you to break it."

The words don't sink in at first, the boy doesn't entirely understand. Ukoku has never asked him to do anything like this before, but there must always be a first time for everything.

"The doll," Ukoku finally clarifies, "Break it for me. I want you to tear it apart."

"But..." The boy's hands fly instinctually to the tabletop, stopping just short of grabbing the doll up from the table and clutching her to his chest. His fingertips dig into the wood just a little. "But Master, I..."

He can't say _"I love her," _because although that is the tightening panic-sensation in his chest, he doesn't understand it. He has never known anything like love and has no idea how to connect the word to any sensation.

Ukoku waits, silent, expecting compliance. He has never punished the boy before, but at the same time he has never given the boy reason to defy him, to think beyond the gratitude he feels for having been purchased with a handful of coins. He enjoys watching the war between twin devotions play out in the depths of the boy's eyes.

"Go on," Ukoku coaxes, "you don't want to make me unhappy, do you?"

Although Ukoku has never punished him, the boy knows enough to be afraid, the same way a rabbit knows to fear the teeth of a fox. He puts his hands on the doll - one on the head, one on the body - and digs his fingers into the fabric.

The doll is well-worn and the stitching comes apart with the application of very little strength, spilling white cotton fluff and sawdust across the tabletop. The boy's stomach churns at the sight; he imagines his own insides spilling out white and grey across the table, doubles over and vomits his dinner on top of the ruins of his doll.

Ukoku reaches across the table and wipes the boy's chin with a soft cloth, threads fingers through his hair.

"That's a good boy."

* * *

He cries until his throat is raw, until his eyes burn and his chest feels so tight that he is sure his bones are collapsing, is sure that each thick sob brings him closer to complete, permanent breathlessness.

Over his own noise, he doesn't hear his master enter the room, and he does everything he can to ignore the shift in the mattress as Ukoku sits next to him, to forget the firm hand on his back. He tries to smother the sound of his agony in the pillow because he knows his master is ashamed of him.

Ukoku takes his shoulders, turns him over; the boy hides his face under his arms and chokes back his little wet noises until it seems like he might drown on them.

"Stop that," the command is not said with anger, but is still stern enough to silence the boy. He bites his lip hard and looks up through clouded eyes at his master's moonlight-tinted face and realizes that Ukoku isn't angry, he's smiling.

"That's better," his master pushes the hair back from his face, tugs knots out of the tear-soaked bangs with his fingertips. "Now - let's do something to help you sleep."

The boy doesn't resist or think to argue. Ukoku has given him things before, bitter drinks and bright pills to make him sleep and, though the boy doesn't like the way he often feels when he finally wakes up again - sore all over and fuzzy-headed, like there really _is_ stuffing packed inside his skull - he wants desperately to sleep and not dream; and his master always manages to give him that.

But this time is different. There is no glass of sticky, bitter medicine, no thick, chalky pill. Ukoku pushes his sleeping shirt up, runs a cool hand across the boy's stomach, almost gentle. It frightens the boy a little, because Ukoku is never really gentle, but he can't bear to ask for it to stop.

Then Ukoku's hands pull his pants down to his knees and the boy shivers; the night air is cold and the vulnerability of his nakedness turns his dull fear into a sharp ache. A warm, dry hand closes around his penis, and as terrified as he is, it feels good too, the slow stroking makes his belly warm. He whimpers and squirms against the bed, but his master doesn't hush him or tell him to hold still, just keeps stroking and squeezing gently until the boy feels like his skin is on fire; then all at once something like a wind seems to blow through him, stopping everything.

The good feeling doesn't entirely disappear, just shrinks down and seeps out all through his body, making him sleepy almost instantly. There is something wet on his stomach, sticky and warm, but his master just pulls his shirt down over it, helps him pull his pants up and then lets him turn on his side, tucking the blankets up around his shoulders.

The boy is half asleep as Ukoku bends and whispers softly in his ear.

"You learned an important lesson today, didn't you, kiddo?" He tucks a stray stand of hair behind the boy's ear, strokes the outline of his birthmark. "Toys shouldn't have names."

-End-


End file.
